The Loop
by Paws2Paper
Summary: Trevor Phillips is stuck in a rut with life all until he discovers something strange in Sandy Shores...
1. Chapter 1

It was late on Friday evening, the sun had long gone down on Sandy Shores and the sky was a dark blue dotted with sparkling stars. Trevor had spent the whole afternoon drinking at the bar just around the corner from his trailer, and soon the clock would hit midnight, closing time, and the bar manager would be pestering Trevor to go home.

This was a typical day now in the life of Trevor Phillips. He would wake up at noon, slowly and reluctantly roll out of his filthy, brittle bed, drag himself into the kitchen of his trailer to eat some Cok-O-Pops and then put on an often stained dirty tank top, a trucker hat, shorts, sneakers and then hobble over to the local bar to start drinking at one. Yes, this had been Trevor's routine for the past five years, ever since he and his old friends, Franklin and Michael killed Devin Weston and brought an end to their criminal careers.

Trevor had money. He had plenty of it. He still had money from the several bank heists he had pulled off with Franklin and Michael back in the day. Business was also going well at his airfield, although he no longer had anything to do with the running of it, he still owned it and got a handsome cut of its earnings every month.

However, all the money in the world could not make Trevor happy. He loved living out in the rural desert,even in the sometimes unbearable heat. He loved living away from the materialistic, uppity Los Santos. He loved living in his grotty, not at all well kept trailer, but something was missing.

He had not been involved in any criminal activity for the last five years and part of him thought that perhaps this was the reason he was so miserable right now. The life of a criminal was certainly never a dull one. Trevor missed the rush of it all, the adrenaline pumping around the body, having something to live for, something to fight for, something to do with your god damn day rather than getting drunk and high out of your brains…

He had several weapons kept amongst his clothes in his wardrobe back in his trailer and on some days, he had this huge urge to rob all the 24/7's in the San Andreas area. He would take the shotgun, get in his truck and drive south down to Los Santos and begin there. Then he would make his way through the city, go north through the desert and during his travels, he would simply one by one pick off all the 24/7 stores as he went.

That was a stupid idea! And an idea he had never come to executing. On second thought, despite the rush and excitement of a criminal career, he was, quite frankly, done with being forever chased down by the police, spending numerous nights in cells and he certainly never wanted to go back to jail. So, if the life of a criminal was no longer for him, what the fuck was for him?

He certainly had no desire to get a regular job, no desire to fly planes again, no desire to meet up with his old buddies, Franklin and Michael…so what the hell was Trevor doing with his life? What was the point? He was not living, just merely existing!

"Ok Trev! Time to wrap it up and get your drunk ass out of here!"

Trevor woke up with a start. He had passed out on the bar. He had drooled a little and his saliva was slowly making its way down his dark, full grown beard. He groaned a little and rubbed his head.

"Did…I do it again? Fuck!" Trevor slurred.

"Yep, passed right out on my bar again, I think it's time to go home Princess!" said Jermaine, the bar manager, in a stern manner.

"Alright, alright, I'm going." Trevor clumsily climbed off the stool, threw some dollar bills on the bar and made his way to the door.

"See you tomorrow then Trev?" harked Jermaine.

Trevor sighed. "Yep! You got it." There was a sure sign of hopelessness and disappointment in his voice.

Once outside, Trevor stopped for a moment to enjoy the cool, night time desert breeze. A small smile crept to his face as it gently blew through his beard, relaxing him and taking him to a happier place in his head. A bark of coyote soon snapped him out of his day dreaming and almost immediately his smile vanished. He shook himself, drunkenly grumbled and began to shuffle back to his trailer.

'No rush,' he thought to himself. It is not like you have got to be anywhere.


	2. Chapter 2

Trevor woke up with a start, he had a dream he was being chased by a cougar which then somehow transformed into a flying great white shark.

"Fucking weird ass dreams," groaned Trevor as he slowly rolled over to look at his clock.

4.00am

"Oh motherfucking Christ!" he spat. He had hardly slept, it was still pitch black outside and now he was wide awake in the middle of the damn night.

He carefully sat himself up, rubbed his eyes, scratched his beard and shivered. It got very cold at night in the desert and he was only sleeping in his boxers. He wrapped his heavily tattooed arms around himself and continued to grumble and groan. He could hear the soft howls of the coyotes outside and in the distance, he could just make a few voices of drunken hillbillies.

He then hastily whipped the duvet off him, shot out of the bed and marched over to his wardrobe to put more clothes on. His wardrobe was a mess, not organised at all. He had to move and shuffle a few of his guns out of the way before getting to his desired clothes. He put on a long sleeved chequered shirt and some tatty jeans.

He made his way over to his grotty, stained covered sofa, slumped himself down, then turned on his tv. An advert for 'Serious Cougar' came on…

 _He's 22 and can last for hours…_

Trevor rolled his eyes. "Nothing but shit on these days." Nevertheless he remained on the channel, kept the tv on and grabbed a bottle of Dusche Good beer from the crate on the floor.

He swigged his beer taking loud, comical sounding gulps as the alcohol went down. He was hoping a little more booze would make him sleepy again.

3 beers later and Trevor was still bright eyed and bushy tailed. The TV was still going, this time blaring out Republican Space Rangers.

'Fuck this!' Trevor cursed whilst throwing his beer to the floor with the bottle smashing into pieces. He pulled himself up off the sofa, strode over the shattered glass and went outside onto the small wooden patio of his trailer. He paused for a moment taking in the cool breeze and then hastily marched over to wooden table on his right. He picked up a dirty, grey sponge, placed it just under his nose and sniffed. He was huffing gas as he knew it was the one guaranteed thing that would knock him out. And it did.

He waddled side to side for a second and then collapsed to the floor with one big crash.

The rain fell down hard on Grapeseed Cow Farm. The cows were rapidly plodding to find some shelter in the barn. Trevor was in the middle of the farm, out in the open, no shelter. He was lying face down in the dirt, his chequered shirt torn and dishevelled and his once blue jeans now fully brown from the wet mud. This often happened when he huffed gas. He would wake up somewhere far away from his trailer and have no recollection of how he got there.

A curious cow hovered over Trevor's body and nudged his head with its nose. Trevor woke up with a start and when rolling over to see a cow looming over him, he gave out a little shriek and scuffled on his backside away from the animal. The cow seemed more frightened than Trevor however, and ran back to be with fellow cows in the barn.

"Ugh!" mumbled Trevor, rubbing his head; he felt like absolute shit, he always did after huffing gas.

He gradually took in his surroundings. The rain poured hard and fast on him and strangely its refreshing sensation gave him a bit of joy.

He scanned the vast plant fields of Grapeseed farm, the slow dozy cattle cramming together to try and keep warm, the rusty old tractor, that must have not been used for at least a decade, pathetically leaning against the high and painted rich, red walls on the outside of the barn and a shiny object glowing from the tractor's driver's seat…

"What the..?' enquired Trevor raising an eyebrow. What on earth was this glowing object?

He was not too sure because of the howling of the wind and rain, but he swore he could hear a low humming sound coming from this mysterious item. He carefully picked himself up off the ground and cautiously crept through the mud towards the tractor. As he drew closer, the humming got louder, the glow got brighter, what the hell was this thing?

Soon enough he was stood right next to the rusty old tractor looking directly down at what looked like a metallic white box. It did not look like it could be opened, it had no buttons or lids or anything on it…it was simply just plain white and glowing on and off constantly and making this very strange humming noise.

Trevor shrugged, and slowly approached his hands toward it, nothing happened. So, without haste, he swooped it into his arms and swayed a little. He was surprised by its weight; it was much heavier than he had anticipated. Being as careful as he could be, he then put this metallic box under his shirt to somewhat protect it from the rain. Though his shirt was not exactly waterproof and he just looked like an idiot with this big huge cube sticking out, but Trevor could not really give two shits. He just wanted to know what the hell this thing was, so he was going to take it back to his trailer for further inspection.

A few hours later, Trevor had long been back at his trailer inspecting this strange, glowing box. It still glowed bright, it still was humming loudly. He had attempted to crack it open by banging a hammer on it, throwing beer bottles at it and throwing the box itself at the walls of his trailer, but alas it came to nothing. It did not even make a mere dent in the thing. Trevor was getting angrier by the minute and screamed, "What the hell is this piece of shit?!"

 _Knock knock_

Someone was at the door.

Trevor assumed it would be Jermaine from the bar, just checking in on him as it was now 5 o clock in the evening and Trevor had yet to make it to the bar today.

Trevor strode to the door and still packed with frustration opened it with a flourish and spat, "What!"

To his surprise, it was not Jermaine. It was a slim white man with slicked back, greasy, brown hair wearing a ridiculous turquoise Hawaiian shirt, and light blue stain washed jeans. This man looked like he was stuck in the 80s.

Trevor chuckled at this man's appearance, "Can I help you? It ain't Halloween yet you know!"

The man frowned, cocked his head and said calmly, "I believe you have something which belongs to me."

Trevor scoffed, "Oh really!"

"Yes really!" the man responded, and with those words pulled back a fist and punched Trevor directly in the face causing him to black out completely.


End file.
